Not Just a Language
by Jim Carnival
Summary: Nobisuke intercepts a French lesson between Suneo and Suneki with a reminder that French isn't just a language. ჯ Implied Nobisuke/Suneki. Drabble.


**Note: **I didn't plan this. It just happened. It spawned. I'm a disgusting creature. I timed myself and had no ideas and then I started frantically thinking of headcanons to spark an idea, and I happened to think of Suneo and Suneki speaking French. But that idea was too pure so I had to ruin it.

* * *

"Okay, Suneki. Ready to go over your assignment?" Suneo pressed his thumb into the spine of the book to hold the pages down, and squinted through his reading glasses at the rows of print. After a moment of silence, he glanced up.

"Suneki?"

Suneki lowered his gaze to the table. He fidgeted. "I––I don't know what to do, Papa."

"Of course you do," Suneo said. He waved away the uncertainty. "You've always caught onto all your French assignments with no problem. You'll be fine."

"That's not what I mean." Suneki rubbed the corners of the slick pages in his textbook. He lowered his head until his hair fell in a scruffy red rag over his forehead. He swallowed. "I don't know how to_ talk_ for this assignment."

"Let me see what we have here," Suneo said, extending his hand. Suneki passed over the book with uneasy hesitation. Suneo poked his glasses higher onto his nose and peered at the text. He referred to his own book again.

"Strange," he mused. "None of this is in my book at all."

Suneki opened his mouth to say something. He jolted as if he had been pinched, then clamped his teeth together.

"It's a––a new edition."

A moment lagged while Suneo read. His eyes widened. His gaze swung to Suneki. Suneki stared back in piteous silence.

Suneo cleared his throat. He skimmed the passage again. "Romantic phrases? In fifth grade French classes? I really need to pull you out of that school," he added in a mutter. "Vulgar. Uncultured. Absolutely."

He forced a smile. He leaned over the table, stretched out one arm, and folded Suneki into a half-hug. Suneki submitted with little enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, dear. You can learn this easy. It was no problem for me when I was in school. I enjoyed it. And you are my son, after all; French should come easy to you."

Suneki gave a little huff of disbelief. "Okay, Papa. I'll try."

Suneo pressed his cheek to Suneki's, despite Suneki's protests. He leaned back and opened the book.

"Let's see." Suneo hummed while he examined the pages. "Ah. How about we start with the easy ones? Say it after me, okay? 'You are very beautiful.' _Tu es très belle._"

Suneki slumped. He stammered a bit before getting his tongue to pop off the words right: "_T––tu es très belle._" He squeezed his eyes shut and jerked his head to the side until his cheek squished against his shoulder.

"That was good, but stress the _très _more. Next one––well, would you look at that. How cheesy. 'A day with you is like a dream.' _Un jour avec vous, c'est comme un rêve._"

Suneki clenched his fingers into fists and pressed his knuckles into his thighs. Drawing up his shoulders in a defensive shrug, he mumbled, "_Un jour avec vous, c'est comme un rêve_."

"Perfect pronunciation! Even the accent. Good job." Suneo riffled through a couple of pages, scanning them. He began to look uncomfortable. "These are . . . direct, aren't they? They have no business teaching you anything remotely romantic in school. Really, now. I'll have to talk to the board about this. I'd better never catch wind of you actually saying these to anybody, you hear? Ah, well. Homework is homework. After me: 'A life spent with you is all I could ever want.' _Vie passé avec vous est tout ce que je pouvais désirer._"

The words sounded as natural and sincere as Suneo's everyday speech. Listening to the cadence of ups and downs and elegant slurs was pleasant, but not enough so to convince Suneki to enjoy repeating them.

He sighed and lowered his head. "_Vie passé avec vous est tout ce que je pouvais désirer,_" he said miserably.

Suneo surveyed Suneki curiously, as though by studying him he could decipher the reason for his awkward, woeful mumbling. Unnerved, Suneo finally returned his attention to the book. He continued, with far less enthusiasm, "'I love you more than anything.' _Je t'aime plus que tout._''

Suneki went rigid and cold like an icicle, as though he had just been grabbed from behind by a ghost. He stared at the wall. His eyes were glassy and lifeless like marbles. The color faded from his face.

"Suneki?" Suneo closed the book and looked up. "Son, what's––" He froze upon noticing Suneki's petrified expression. Suneo cast the book aside, slammed his palms onto the table and leaned over. He beat his hand through the air in front of Suneki's face to rouse him. After a moment of no response, Suneo grabbed Suneki's shoulders to give him a shake that rattled his earrings.

"Suneki! Suneki Honekawa, for God's sake, what's the _matter_?"

Suneki stared into Suneo's face. He blinked once. He swallowed. Suneo squeezed him tighter. Finally, Suneki breathed again in a few tiny, shaky huffs.

"Suneki? Are you okay? What's wrong with you?" Suneo shook him. Suneki's head lolled. He screwed his eyes shut and tightened his arms against his sides before a shiver bristled through him. And all at once, as if drained of the will to protest, Suneki sank into his chair. Suneo lunged closer, practically laying on top of the table to keep his grip on Suneki. Suneki went limp, slouching until his chin touched his collarbone.

" _Je . . . je t'aime p––plus que . . . plus que tout._" The whisper echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Suneo stared at Suneki for a long time. After what felt like hours, he unlocked his fingers from around Suneki's arms. Suneki sagged forward.

". . . I think you should take a break for a while." Suneo slid off the table, stood, and straightened his bowtie with a jerk. He glanced over his shoulder at Suneki, seeming conflicted between further pursuing an answer to his behavior, or leaving him alone. Suneo lingered in the doorway, his face drawn with concern. After consideration, he swept away.

Silence fell as heavy as an anvil, driving into Suneki's ears. Suneki scrunched lower in his chair and leaned his head against the neckrest. He kept his eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I . . . I hope you're happy," he muttered. The ceiling blurred. Suneki swiped the back of his hand over his face to scrub away the sudden tears. "When you said you'd give me a list of good things for Papa and me to practice saying, I didn't know you meant _that._" Suneki sniffed. "I just hope you're happy."

The hem of the tablecloth rustled. It billowed, ruffled, and draped over the tousled top of a dark head. Nobisuke pushed away the rolls of fabric, raised his head, and grinned like a weasel.

"Don't worry," he said. "I am." Nobisuke crawled from beneath the table just enough to crane his neck and peer upward. He dragged the tablecloth with him a few inches.

"Huh. Your dad's gone." Nobisuke glanced around. When he turned to Suneki again, his grin stretched further. "I think you need a little more work on that _c'est_ _l'amour _stuff. It sounded nice, but if you'd want to practice more, I have other things we could use to test your vocabulary. I doubt your mouth's gotten enough of a warmup with just that little bit of French."

As if struck by an idea, Nobisuke leered over his shoulder. He expelled a polite little cough into his fist before saying, "I could always help you get warmed up with french before helping with French."

Suneki kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, but they were glazed, as though he were staring far beyond the sunburst pattern in the yellow paint.

"_Dieu aide un pauvre pécheur comme moi_," he said quietly.

* * *

**Note: **Please, may God help a poor sinner like Suneki. And also me.


End file.
